The rest of the crew and passengers started nodding off and falling asleep at their benches and posts, taking a break after some horrible events before they’d have to take up their duties as oarsmen. Many seemed to be leaning against each other with two people sharing a bench, and Porran wondered how many people were on his boat, how many children, women, and men amongst them.
He’d have to count everybody in the morning, learn their names, and divide the shifts and row assignments more evenly between the skilled and unskilled rowers, between the stronger and weaker members, so that no one would take on more than they could handle during this trip. Everyone was already strained, tense, and exhausted after the brutal exertion they’d been through, so they needed to take care of themselves now and reserve their strength for the long journey ahead.
Not even Porran knew exactly where they were going, but he figured they’d have to travel far enough away to get ahead of Corrica’s downfall. They’d stop here and there, of course, at a few islands he knew of to resupply themselves, but when it came to finding a long-term refuge or a new home for themselves, he wondered if they’d have to go further afield.
That scared even an experienced sailor like him, to go beyond the familiar, known territories, but they’d have to do it if they couldn’t find any shelter around here. He’d be prepared to lead them that way, but they’d have to be strong enough, too, to follow along.
ℜℜℜ
The next morning, everyone felt a little better after getting the chance to rest, but they were still worn and listless. As they all received and ate their breakfast rations, Porran went about, counting himself and his crew, of which there were twenty-two, Geneva and her family, of which there were fifty-three, and the rest, of which there were twelve, so eighty-seven people total were aboard ship.
Of these, there were twenty-three children under the age of eighteen, including baby Jomo, Corr, and Wintha, all of whom shared a bench with an adult, mostly their parents or relatives. There were twenty-one adult women and forty-three adult men, over half of those men being Porran’s crew. So he started dividing them all up into different assignments, with his crew scattered across the rows, and handling the rudder.
Often two people would be sharing a bench, with women and children paired up together and men paired up together amongst the passengers. Most of Porran’s crew would have a bench to themselves as they could man an oar alone. They all started rearranging themselves accordingly, making sure the weaker and stronger rowers were evenly distributed throughout each side of the ship so that their oars’ rhythm and pace would match.
If any of the crew members were paired up with another man, the crew member would sit next to the aisle, handling the blunt weight of the oar on the inside and ready to get up to hoist the sail or take a turn manning the rudder. Once satisfied, Porran declared they should continue on, announcing they’d head to an island close by where they’d acquire more supplies, and a chance to inquire about any opportunities for a settlement. They started rowing again, looking forward to such a break for them.
Porran was positioned on the port second row next to another man, either Geneva’s father or one of her uncles, while Anya was on the starboard fourth row next to a kid. She could look back at Wintha and Wilama on the port sixth row, seated together, and wished she could join them.
Porran’s system had some merits, allowing everyone the ability to work together with fewer distractions and less significant handicaps. However, families and friends were split up and scattered throughout the ship with less chance of talking to each other.
Anya, however, had to keep busy to distract herself from mounting worries and troubling thoughts, so she went around tending to others and checking up on them, cheering them up whenever she could. Porran told her to settle down for now, but she couldn’t help it, and kept discussing any issues she noticed with her cousin.
Wilama shook her head when she saw Anya acting up a little, but it was one of the admirable qualities about her. Anya wouldn’t sit still and would always try her best to assist others, even if that hurt her, too. Wilama hoped Anya would take care of herself, though.
As for Wilama, she personally praised the gods for the miracle that had occurred to bring them all safely out of Corrica, not just calling upon Loqwuano, but also Sidhe, Tauia, Quelua, Pilantia, Weldova, Tichiata and Jakorva. Tauia was worshipped by the soldiers as a warrior god, and often their wives and families worshipped Quelua as well, a shield maiden who guarded the house and hearth whenever Tauia was away.
Pilantia was a foreign goddess of some kind, but some of the servants and slaves worshipped her as a protector and guardian, too, so Wilama included her, too. Weldova was a goddess of love and mercy while Tichiata was a cunning trickster god of speed and agility, smart enough to run away at the first sign of trouble. Wilama included them, and Jakorva, who was a sailor’s god and assisted hard workers, too.
They needed all the support they could get, but at least they had the advantage of a special little girl, too, who could speak with the voice of the gods and foresee the future. Wilama beamed with pride and joy on Wintha, who saved them from such dire straits, and swore she’d always protect their seer from harm.
Wintha shuddered, not really knowing why, and inched away from Wilama, who was a tad possessive in her opinion. But she tolerated the priestess for now when they were safe and Wilama was still a good person at heart. She trusted Anya without question, though.
Wintha glanced around at everybody surrounding her, trying to determine who they were and what part they had to play in the trials ahead of them. Visions clouded her mind, especially whenever her eyes landed on certain individuals, and filled her head with images and sounds she didn’t understand yet.
It was hard to focus on anything and discern the prophecies’ meaning, but she knew that whatever else, this was where she belonged and where they were going would be far better than what they’d left behind, at least for her. She only wished she could save others, but maybe someday, her voice would lead more people to a better life.
She glanced across the aisle at another man struggling with his oar, grimacing and wincing whenever he had to move a sore part of his body. Suddenly the flashes were coming faster than she’d ever experienced them when her eyes alighted on him, and she had to look away. He played a far bigger or longer role than most people here, she suspected.
“What is it? What did you see?” Wilama asked, curious as she stared at Wintha.
“The green man, the bard,” Wintha murmured, shaking her head. “He must stay with us. He must come with us all the way to the end.”
Wilama turned her head, looking at the damaged man across from them. “The singer?” She recalled, remembering how he’d joined in on her hymn last night, singing so eloquently. “He wants to leave?”
“I don’t know, but he can’t leave. We need him.” Wintha said.
“All right, I’ll make sure he stays. Leave that to me.” Wilama told her, unnerving Wintha a little.
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Zeldos sat on the starboard sixth row, next to another man, nursing the bruises and wounds he’d gotten from Memba before he got away. The healer had applied a poultice to the sorest spot before continuing her rounds. He was glad to leave Corrica behind, and even felt a small satisfaction that it burned for what some of its people had done to him and other slaves.
However, the pain the others felt hadn’t left him entirely unsympathetic to their plight when he vaguely remembered being torn away from his mother and home, taken off on a ship like this one, on a journey he knew nothing about. They’d all face hardships, he knew, and he’d have to work with them for now to survive and make it through this voyage.
But once he had the chance to leave, maybe to find his old home or start a new life for himself, he’d do that and get as far away from these Corricans as he could. He wouldn’t serve them or anyone else like them again.
Meanwhile, Marko’s wife Dahlia was on the starboard ninth row, n
ursing her baby Jomo while another child was seated next to her. “Why am I looking after this girl?” Dahlia asked, turning to face Lapida, seated on the port tenth row with a boy. “I’m not her mother. I shouldn’t be responsible for her.”
“There isn’t enough space for all of these kids to sit with their parents, especially when everybody’s spaced out like this.” Lapida told Dahlia. “We’ve got to make do with the situation for now.”
“We’ve got a lot of cousins.” The boy sitting next to Lapida said.
“Yes, so do—did I.” Lapida told him, correcting herself as she stifled a whimper.
All of those people they knew and loved back home in Corrica, her extended family who lived in a village on the north side of the island, were they all dead now because of that volcano? Lapida didn’t have enough time to warn them when she could only flee with Hasbas and Corr.
Geneva had managed to help save everybody in her family, her parents, her siblings and their spouses, her nieces and nephews, her aunts and uncles, her cousins and their spouses, and their children, too, when they fled from Mt. Harmony. There was no chance for such heroics on Lapida’s part, and she wished with all her might that she could’ve done the same for her entire family.
Dahlia sighed and turned to the girl next to her. “Here, you take baby Jomo for a moment, hold him steady and properly, and I’ll row. Is it backwards or forwards?” Dahlia asked, staring at the oar.
At that moment, Corr sat next to his brother Hasbas on the port thirteenth row, the fifteen-year-old boy still in a state of shock after everything that happened. What was their future going to be like when it felt like the world had ended? He didn’t know the answer, but was glad at least that he still had his big brother Hasbas.
When their parents died a couple years ago, Corr was devastated and didn’t know where to turn to, who he’d go to live with, when his custodianship seemed up in the air. But luckily Hasbas and his new wife Lapida took him in, or else he might’ve wound up a menial servant for one of their distant relatives. He helped out in Lapida’s blacksmith workshop, but it was a far better treatment and service than he would’ve gotten with a couple of their other relations.
Corr owed everything to Hasbas and Lapida now, especially with this latest disaster, and there was no way he could repay them after they saved his life so many times. The only thing he could do was stick with them, and make sure they all survived.
Hasbas rowed as vigorously as he could, following the crew members’ instructions, and tried to ignore the feelings of doubt and remorse growing in his mind. As a soldier, he’d been trained to look out for others, to care for the members of his unit, and defend those who needed help. Yet at the first sign of an eminent threat, he hadn’t done anything to warn others of the danger.
He followed Marko’s lead, keeping silent and looking out only for their family members, no one else. Now the people who depended upon him and soldiers like him were dead, and he had to live with that guilt for the rest of his life.
Had they really done all they could to save people? Could they have done more? And were they going to survive this journey?
Marko happened to be placed right across from Corr and Hasbas on the starboard thirteenth row with another man, one of Geneva’s brothers or her cousin. He rowed along with the rest, obeying the rules set by the captain, but when he got the chance, Marko leaned conspiratorially across to talk to Hasbas.
“This is a stroke of luck. I didn’t think Porran would be dumb enough to put us together, but even his plan has a chink in it.” Marko told Hasbas in a low whisper.
“What plan?” Hasbas asked.
“The plan to separate us and prevent us from ganging up on him and his crew.” Marko said. “He only wants one commander on board his ship, and that’s going to be him.”
“It’s his ship, after all, his crew. We need him and the others to stay afloat, just like they’ll need us if they run into trouble.”
“Yes, but what about when we reach shore? When we come upon one of the islands, what happens then? Will the captain retain control of his ship and the rest of us, or will we assert some authority for ourselves?”
Hasbas glanced away. “I don’t know. I’d rather stay with the rest of the group and have some stability after what we just went through.”
“Open your eyes, Hasbas. It’s just us now. It’s just this group and whatever survivors of the Corrican empire there are. Beyond that, there’s the rest of the world, whatever’s out there, waiting to swallow us up. We’ve got to stick together, yes, but we can’t rely on Porran and his crew to run things forever. They aren’t in charge of us. We’re the ones who have to be responsible for our own fates.”
“You might be right, but we can’t stick our necks out too far, not now. We shouldn’t stir up an insurrection so soon after losing our homes.”
“Okay, I won’t do it now. But you need to be more aware, Hasbas, of what’s happening around you and what lies further ahead. Someday you’ll need to choose when to stand up for yourself and everyone else.”
Marko turned away from Hasbas, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, while they both kept rowing, mired in their thoughts and ignoring each other once more. Corr glanced over at his brother, wondering what Marko said that disturbed him so much, but he knew better than to ask. Hasbas wouldn’t tell him anything when it came to one of his military affairs.
ℜℜℜ
Geneva tried to entertain one of her nieces on the fifteenth port row, as used to looking after her family as she was now. Her parents and others always said that she was helpful, minding them and tending to their needs.
So it made sense when the scholar appeared on Mt. Harmony’s slopes, researching the geological layers of the rock formation, that she’d also check up on him, too. Geneva made sure that he was fed and rested, soon following after him as she became his assistant, and bore witness alongside him to the changes on the mountain.
She’d seen the danger and helped rally her family, getting them to move along with the scholar and leave the mountain behind them. Now many in her family were coming around, thanking her for saving them, and she hadn’t done much of anything.
It was the scholar they should be thanking, Geneva knew, when the scholar had done everything, and…she couldn’t stop thinking about him, even now. Geneva glanced back, spotting Mogame in the distance, but she couldn’t face him.
They were still mourning Corrica’s loss after the horrific tragedy with an uncertain future lying ahead. Now wasn’t the time for any notions about romance. He probably felt the same way, and he wouldn’t even consider a farmer’s daughter like her, anyway.
Buzzbo, Marko’s lover, sat on the starboard sixteenth row, still flummoxed by the events of the past day. He couldn’t believe the strange turns his life had taken that brought him here and looked around at everybody, carefully studying them.
He hadn’t survived a rough childhood, when his parents sold him off so that they wouldn’t starve, and an even tougher servitude, until he landed the perfect beau he adored, just to die out here on this floating wreck. Marko always had a plan, that was one of the things Buzzbo loved about him, but he couldn’t depend on his boyfriend forever.
Marko had a wife and son to look after, and while Buzzbo knew Marko didn’t love Dahlia so deeply, with lust or burning passion when their marriage had been more of a political alliance, Marko still had ties to his family that Buzzbo couldn’t claim. Besides, Dahlia was sometimes envious of Buzzbo, and he had to admit to a certain amount of jealousy for her, too.
Buzzbo had to live out in the guesthouse, while Dahlia stayed in the main house, even though Marko spent more time with him? It didn’t make much sense, but that was the way life was back in Corrica before it was destroyed. Now here they were, without the house or the guesthouse to contend with anymore.
They were separated on the same side of the ship. Buzzbo could see Marko just a few rows ahead of him, and Dahlia with baby Jomo was a few more rows ahe
ad of Marko. It was annoying, almost torture that they were kept apart like this. Buzzbo noticed Marko glancing back at him on occasion, with yearning eyes and a mischievous grin, but other times Marko was looking forward, smiling at his wife and child when they turned to face him.
Buzzbo couldn’t stand it, now more than ever before. They didn’t have much of a chance to talk to each other, so Buzzbo was left waiting, wondering what Marko would do now. Would he choose to be with his family or would he be with Buzzbo, now that they had the freedom to be whoever they wished to be, with Corrica gone?
Buzzbo wasn’t certain what life Marko would choose, and he contemplated leaving Marko behind. Finally, way back in the nineteenth starboard row, not as far back as the stern of the ship, but close enough to feel like it, Mogame groaned to himself.
He couldn’t believe they put him back here. He was the one who discovered the changes happening on the mountainside, who predicted how the volcano would erupt, and he got it right. Because of him, everyone on this boat was safe, they’d gotten away, but when it came time to assign seats, apparently they determined that some of the last people who arrived would receive the back row seats?
Mogame hated being at the rear when he deserved to be seated right near the bow of the ship, right next to Porran, its captain, giving him advice and helping him out in his duties. But no, he had to be back here, and not even close to Geneva, who was four rows ahead of him on the opposite side of the ship!
Mogame shook his head and ignored whatever feelings he had cropping up for her as he continued rowing his oar. She was a beautiful, wonderful, kind lady who didn’t deserve to be tied down to a poor, selfish, egotistic and absent-minded scholar like him. Who’d want to be with him, after all? So they kept on rowing.
Survivors of Corrica Page 4